Puellus Plebius Kyosuke Iusto
by Thedude3445
Summary: It's my new story! It's not actually a sequel to Madoka in Mexico or My Big Fat Madoka Wedding. It's the original story of Madoka Magica, in the point-of-view of Kyosuke Kamijo, everyone's favorite character. You are in for a total treat!
1. Chapter 1

1

I am Kyosuke Kamijo, and for the past month I have been stuck in a hospital bed with nothing to do. Earlier this year, I was hit by a drunk driver after a concert, and almost killed. The doctors say I shouldn't have survived, the way my body was twisted when the vehicle made impact. But I did. I won't be able to walk for the rest of the year, and my friends have barely been able to visit me since this all happened right before the end of the semester.

Worst of all, however, is my hands. These wretched useless hands. Once upon a time they were my greatest asset. My nimble fingers and graceful wrists let me show to the world what I was made of, what I was the greatest at… But now that's all gone.

_"Mr. Kamijo" the doctor said. "We need to discuss… your son for a moment. Could you please step outside?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ They didn't realize I could hear them through the door._

_ "There's no chance of his hands being able to recover to what they once were."_

_ "But surely they will still heal, right?"_

_ "I'm afraid not. You need to break it gently to him. He will likely never be able to play the violin again."_

_ "I… I understand. Thank you, doctor."_

That was two weeks ago. And nothing has changed since then. My father still hasn't officially told me there is no hope left. Apparently he's either too weak to tell the truth to his own son, or he still holds some naive hope that the doctor was wrong. But who would hold out hope for someone like me?

Well, I wouldn't anyway.

People like me, we cripples. Our purposes are null once our bodies are broken, and there is nothing we can do but bide our time until our inevitable demise. It's the same as any other person on this grayscale Earth, but for us we don't even have our own lives to look forward to. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm sure most people in situations like these can eventually resume their lives, too. It had to be me who was hit. It had to be one of the few people whose lives actually depended on our physical skill.

What always makes me laugh the most about my circumstance is that I was carrying my violin case when the accident happened. However, as the car collided with me, the violin case flew out of my hands. And a bystander caught it before it could hit the ground and break into a hundred pieces. Even right now, my violin is sitting at home, perfectly fine, while I lay in bed here, perfectly not.

This whole deal is ruinous, and I won't stand for it. Not like I could stand for it, anyway, considering my legs are immobile. I sigh at my own terrible joke and lean my head back against the bedpost. The room is warm, aided by the golden-orange glow from the setting sun out the window. But I don't care. My parents gave me the best room in the hospital, but I have already grown tired of living on this bed like I have been for so long now. The artificially-pleasant atmosphere surrounding me has grown quite stale.

I think back to that fateful concert and remember my performance. It was terrible. I was playing an arrangement of _Four Seasons_ by Vivaldi, and I massacred part of "Winter". Nobody seemed to notice as I was able to improvise and cover my mistakes, but for someone of my renown, it was a pathetic mistake. And I will never be able to rectify myself.

_"You did amazing, Kyosuke!" she exclaimed. _

_ I looked at her and smiled, but it was only to hide my shame. I wasn't supposed to make mistakes, and I did. I said nothing in response._

_ "We need to go celebrate. Do you want to go with my family to get some ice cream? Our treat!"_

_ "Ah… No thanks. My father has already booked reservations at the Sushi Mizutani and we are already running late."_

_ "Oh, that's okay. Maybe some other time."_

Of course, ten minutes later and I was all but roadkill. If only I had gone with her after all… None of this would have happened...

I can't bear to see that girl shows up at least four times a week, always with a smile on her face, and usually a music CD for me to hear. Even as the end-of-semester exams grow closer, she won't quit coming. It's a nice gesture but she couldn't possibly understand what I am going through. I want more than anything for her to simply leave me alone, so I can suffer in the peace and quiet of my hospital room.

Beep.

"Mr. Kamijo," the nurse says over the intercom. "Your friend is here to see you."

I sigh. "Let her in."

Seconds later, she enters. "Hi, Kyosuke. I brought you another CD. I think you'll like it! Do you want to listen to it?"

Sayaka Miki, the blue-haired demon of my nightmares.

And yet…

"Yeah, sure."


	2. Chapter 2

2

Sayaka always asks me how I'm doing. Trying to cheer me up. She can see the pain on my face as I hear the beautiful instruments playing through my headphones, can't she? There's nothing left for me but she wants to make me feel like there is. I can't let her do it. Except that I am doing just that. My willpower is too weak to tell her to stop. To stop acting like everything's okay. To stop being so damn happy. To stop existing around me.

Rachmaninoff's "Vocalise" begins, and I'm suddenly swept away into the violin's gorgeous movements. I can remember the time I played this very piece in front of an audience for the first time. I was nine, and it was only my third-ever recital, but dozens showed up to listen.

Sayaka was there, on the front row, watching me.

I snap back into reality and realize my hands are fingering along to the song. Almost immediately, tears roll down my face. I will never be able to play that song again. My artistry is dead, and this song serves only as a reminder of the grief I feel. I try to hide my crying as best as I can, but my efforts are for naught, as my watery pain drips from my chin to my shirt in a series of resonant pops.

Eventually, Sayaka finishes her moment with me and decides to head home. I don't even think she noticed the fact I was crying. Surely she is doing this on purpose; maybe I upset her some time ago and didn't realize it, and now she is coming here to enact revenge when I am most vulnerable? That can be the only explanation for this horror.

I quickly drift off to sleep, and dream that I am up onstage again. It's all I want. And it's the only thing I can't have.


	3. Chapter 3

3

My father came to see me today. He stopped doing that very often after the first week or two. He says his job is keeping him from taking any more time off and he has tried to fight his bosses but failed. Of course he failed.

"I'm thinking about enrolling you at Yamaku High School next semester, Kyosuke, while you heal. It's a special school for physically disabled students, and it has a hospital right next door."

"Yeah." I don't say it, but I think that it's a horrible idea. Just because I'll be like this for a little while longer doesn't mean I need to go to a school to accommodate me. I don't want to be around other people like me. I'm a cripple forever, but that doesn't mean I want to associate myself with others. They couldn't understand my situation; they'd just try to get me to adapt, not realizing that the violin was what I was born for. My destiny.

My father continues. "It will only have to be for one semester, if your recovery progresses at the same rate that it is now. So you won't have to worry about leaving your friends for too long."

"Yeah." My friends, the ones who care more about schoolwork than visiting me.

"But since this is your life we're dealing with, I'll leave the final decision up to you. What do you think?"

"I…" I pause for a moment. I don't want to tell him off, because he's my father, but I am not even considering this proposal. "Can I think about it for a while longer?"

"Sure. It's a tough call to make, I know. You can-"

Beep. The intercom comes on.

"Mr. Kamijo. Your friend is here to see you."

I hesitate. I don't want to let her in, not again. My father seems to notice this.

He answers. "Ah, tell her that he's not in good shape right now. Is that alright?"

"Yes sir," the nurse answers. The intercom shuts off.

"Well," my father says. "I'll let you go. Do you want to bring me anything back?"

I look up and stare him in the face. My eyes tear up again. "Please… please... burn my violin." This does not provoke the reaction I expected. He too begins to cry and walks out the door without replying. I can only imagine he is distraught simply because it had originally cost so much.


End file.
